Fallen
by hellyeahsasusaku
Summary: Instant. Intense. Weirdly familiar. The moment Sakura looks at Sasuke she knows she has never felt like this before. She can't shake the feeling that she has.. and with him- a boy she doesn't remember ever setting eyes on.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so I decided to write a new story, which I know you'd say "hey, you haven't finish your other stories, and you're doing this?". But this is just what I have and I hope you'll still be with me and keep reading my stories. **

**This story is a story which I picked from the book "Fallen by Lauren Kate". It's an amazing book and you should read it. I'm gonna change the characters to the naruto characters of course. So, read and review it please? Heheh XD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto and the plot. Only the story. XD**

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Summary:

_There's something achingly familiar about Sasuke Uchiha. _

_Mysterious and aloof, he captures Sakura Haruno's attention from the moment she sees him on her first day at the Sword & Cross boarding school in sultry Savannah, Georgia. He's the one bright spot in a place where cell phones are forbidden, the other students are all screw-ups, and security cameras watch every move. _

_Even though Sasuke wants nothing to do with Sakura–and goes out of his way to make that very clear–she can't let it go. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, she has to find out what Sasuke is so desperate to keep secret . . . even if it kills her._

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FALLEN

IN THE BEGINNING

HELSTON, ENGLAND

SEPTEMBER 1854

Around midnight, her eyes at last took shape. The look in them was feline, half determined and half tentative- all trouble. Yes, they were just right, those eyes. Rising up to her fine, elegant eyebrows, inches from the dark cascade of her hair.

He held the paper at arm's length to assess his progress. It was hard, working without her in front of him, but then, he never could sketch in her presence. Since he had arrived from London- no, since he had first seen her- he'd had to be careful always to keep her at a distance.

Every day now she approached him, and every day was more difficult than the one before. It was why he was leaving in the morning - for India, for the Americas, he didn't know or care. Whenever he ended up, it would be easier than being here. He leaned over the drawing again, sighing as he used his thumb to perfect the smudged charcoal pout of her full bottom lip. This lifeless paper, cruel imposter, was the only way to take her with him.

Then, straightening up in the leather library chair, he felt it. That brush of warmth on the back of his neck.

_Her._

Her mere proximity gave him the most peculiar sensation, like the kind of heat sent out when a log shatters to ash in fire. He knew without turning around; She was there. He covered her likeness on the bound papers in lis lap, but he could not escape her.

His eyes fell on the ivory-upholstered settee across the parlor, where only hours earlier she'd turned up unexpectedly, later than the rest of her party, in a rose silk gown, to applaud the eldest daughter of their host after a fine turn at the harpsichord. He glanced across the room, out the window to the veranda, where the day before she'd crept up on him, a fistful of wild white peonies in her hand. She still thought the pull she felt toward him was innocent, that their frequent rendezvous in the gazebo were merely... happy coincidences. To be so naive! He would never tell her otherwise- the secret was his to bear.

He stood and turned, the sketches left behind on the leather chair. And there she was, pressed against the ruby velvet curtain in her plain white dressing gown. Her pink hair had fallen from its braid. The look on her face was the same as the one he'd sketched so many times. There was the fire, rising in her cheeks. Was she angry? Embarrassed? He longed to know, but could not allow himself to ask.

"What are you doing here?" He could hear the snarl in his voice, and regretted its sharpness, knowing she would never understand.

"I-I couldn't sleep," she stammered, moving towards the fire and his chair. "I saw the light in your room and then-" she paused, looking down at her hands- "your trunk outside the door. Are you going somewhere?"

'I was going to tell you-: he broke off. He shouldn't lie. He had never intended to let her know his plans. Telling her would only make things worse. Already, he had let things go too far, hoping this time would be different.

She drew nearer, and her eyes fell on his sketchbook.

"You were drawing me?"

Her startled tone reminded him how great the gap was in their understanding. Even after all the time they'd spent together these past few weeks, she had not yet begun to glimpse the truth that lay behind their attraction.

This was good- or at least, it was for the better. For the past several days, since he'd made the choice to leave, he'd been struggling to pull away from her. The effort took so much out of him that, as soon as he was alone, he had to give in to his pent-up desire to draw her. He had filled up his book with pages of her ached neck, her marble collarbone, her hair.

Now, he looked back at the sketch, not ashamed at being caught drawing her, but worse. A cold chill spread thought him as he realized that her discovery- the exposure of his feelings- would destroy her. He should have been more careful. It always began like this.

"Warm milk with a spoonful of treacle," he murmured, his back still to her. Then he added sadly, "It helps you sleep."

"How did you know? Why, that's exactly what my mother used to-"

"I know," he said, turning to face her. The astonishment in her voice did not surprise him, yet he could not explain to her how he knew, or tell her how many times he had administered this very drink to her in the past when the shadows came, how he had held her until she fell asleep.

He felt her touch as though it were burning through his shirt, her hand laid gently on his shoulder, causing him to gasp. They had not yet touched in this life, and the first contact always left him breathless.

"answer me," she whispered. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes."

"Then take me with you," she blurted out. Right on cue, he watched her suck in her breath, wishing to take back her plea. He could see the progression of her emotions settle in the crease between her eyes: She would fell impetuous, then bewildered, then ashamed by her own forwardness. She always did this, and too many times before, he had made the mistake of comforting her at this exact moment.

"No," he whispered, remembering.. . always remembering... "I sail tomorrow. If you care for me at all, you won't say another word."

"_If_ I care for you," she repeated, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "I-I love-"

"Don't."

"I have to say it. I-I love you, I'm quite sure, and if you leave-"

"If I leave, I save your life." He spoke slowly, trying to reach a part of her that might remember. Was it there at all, buried somewhere? "Some things are more important than love. You won't understand, but you have to trust me."

Her eyes drilled into him. She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. This was his fault,too- he always brought out her contemptuous side when he spoke down to her.

'You mean to say there are things more important than this?" she challenged, taking his hands and drawing them to her heart.

Oh, to be her and not know what was coming! Or at least to be stronger than he was and be able to stop her. If he didn't stop her, she would never learn, and the past would only repeat itself, torturing them both again and again.

The familiar warmth of her skin under his hands made him tilt his head back and moan. He was trying to ignore how close she was, how well he knew the feel of her lips on his, how bitter he felt all of this had to end. But her fingers traced his so lightly. He could feel her heart racing through her thin cotton gown.

She was right. There was nothing more than this. There never was. He was about to give in and take her in his arms when he caught the look in her eyes. As if she'd seen a ghost.

She was the one to pull away, a hand to her forehead.

"I'm having the strangest sensation," she whispered.

No- was it already too late?

Her eyes narrowed into the shape in his sketch and she came back to him, her hands on his chest, her lips parted expectantly. "Tell me I'm mad, but I swear I've been right here before..."

So it _was _too late. He looked up, shivering, and could feel the dark descending. He took one last chance to seize her, to hold her as tightly as he'd been yearning to for weeks.

As soon as her lips melted into his, both of them were powerless. The cherry taste of her mouth made him dizzy. The closer she pressed against him, the more his stomach churned with the thrill and the agony of it all. Her tongue traced his, and the fire between them burned brighter, hotter, more powerful with every new touch, every new exploration. Yet none of it was new.

The room quaked. An aura around them started to glow.

She noticed nothing, was aware of nothing, understood nothing besides their kiss.

He alone knew what was about to happen, what dark companions were prepared to fall on their reunion. Even tough he was unable to alter the course of their lives yet again, he knew.

The shadows swirled directly over head. So close, he might have touched them. So close,he wondered wether she could hear what they were whispering. He watched as the cloud passed over her face. For a moment he saw a spark of recognition growing in her eyes.

Then there was nothing, nothing at all.

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**_A/n: Tell me if you want me to continue this story :) _**


	2. Perfect Strangers

Fallen Chapter One

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PERFECT STRANGERS

Sakura barged into the fluorescent-lit lobby of the Sword & Cross School ten minutes later than she should have. A barrel-chested attendant with ruddy cheeks and a clipboard clamped under an iron bicep was already giving orders which meant Sakura was already behind.

"So remember, it's meds, beds, and reds," the attendant barked at a cluster of three other students all standing with their backs to Sakura. "Remember the basics and no one gets hurt."

Sakura hurried to slip in behind the group. She was still trying to figure out wether she'd filled out the giant stack of paperwork correctly, wether this shaven-headed guide standing before them was a man or a woman, wether there was anyone to help her with this enormous duffel bag, wether her parents were going to get rid of her beloved Plymouth Fury the minute they arrived hom from dropping her off here. They'd been threatening to sell the car all summer, and now they had a reason even Sakura couldn't argue with. No one was allowed to have a car at Sakura's new school. Her new reform school, to be precise.

She was still getting used to the term.

"Could you, uh, could you repeat that?" she asked the attendant. "What was it, meds-?

"Well, look what the storm blew in," the attendant said loudly, then continued, enunciating slowly," Meds. If you're one of the medicated students, this is where you go to keep yourself doped up, sane, breathing, whatever." Woman, Sakura decided, studying the attendant. No man would be catty enough to say all that in such a charine tone of voice.

"got it," Sakura felt her stomach heave. "Meds."

She'd been off meds for years now. After the accident this past summer, Dr. Sanford, her specialist in Hopkinton- and the reason her parents sent her to boarding school all the way in New Hampshire- had wanted to consider medicating her again. Though she'd finally convinced him her quasi-stability, it had taken an extra month of analysis on her part just to say off those awful antipsychotics.

Which was why she was enrolling in her senior year at Sword & Cross a full month after the academic year had begun. Being a new student was bad enough, and Sakura had been really nervous about having to jump into classes where everyone else was already settled. But from the looks of this tour, she wasn't only the new kid arriving today.

She sneaked a peek at the three other students standing in a half circle around her. At her last school, Dover Prep, the campus tour on the first day was where she'd met her best friend, Callie. On a campus where all the other students had practically been weaned together, it would have been enough that Sakura and Callie were the only non-legacy kids. But it didn't take long for the two girls to realize they also had the exact same obsession with the exact same old movies- especially where Albert Finney was concerned. After their discovery freshman year while watching _Two for the Road _that neither one of them could make a bag of popcorn without setting off the fire alarm, Callie and Sakura hadn't left each other's side. Until... until they'd had to.

At Sakura's sides today were two boys and a girl. The girl seemed easy enough to figure out, blond and Neutrogena-commercial pretty, with pastel pink manicured nails that matched her plastic binder.

"I'm Ino," she drawled, flashing Sakura a big smile that disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced, before Sakura could even offer her own name. The girls' waning interest reminded her more of a southern version of the girls at Dover than someone she'd expect at Sword & Cross. Sakura couldn't decide wether this was comforting or not, any more than she could imagine what a girl who looked like this would be doing at reform school.

To Sakura's right was a guy with short red hair, green eyes, and a stammering of freckles across his nose. But the way he wouldn't even meet her eyes, just kept picking at a hangnail on his thumb, gave sakura the impression that, like her, he was probably still stunned and embarrassed to find himself here.

The guy to her left, on the other hand, fit Sakura's impression of this place a little bit too perfectly. He was tall and thin, with a DJ bag slung over his shoulder, shaggy red hair, and large deep-set green eyes. His lips were full and a natural rose color most girl would kill for. At the back of his neck, a black tattoo in the shape of sunburst seemed almost to glow on his light skin, rising up from the edge of his black T-shirt.

Unlike the other two, when this guy turned to meet her gaze, he held it an didn't let go. His mouth was set in a straight line, but his eyes were warm and alive. He gazed at her, standing as still as a sculpture, which made Sakura feel rooted to her spot,too. She sucked in her breath. Those eyes were intense, and alluring, and, well, a little bit disarming.

With some loud throat-clearing noises, the attendant interrupted the boy's trancelike stare. Sakura blushed and pretended to be very busy scratching her head.

"Those of you who've learned the ropes are free to go after you dump your hazards." The attendant gestured at a large cardboard box under a sign that said say in big letters PROHIBITED MATERIALS. "And when I say free, Gaara"- she clamped a hand down on the freckled kid's shoulder, making him jump- "I mean gymnasium -bound to meet your preassigned student guides. You-" she pointed to Sakura- "dump your hazards and stay with me."

The four of them shuffled toward the box and Sakura watched, baffled, as the other students began to empty their pockets. The girl pulled out a three-inch pink Swiss Army knife. The green-eyed guy reluctantly dumped a can of spray paint and a box cutter. Even the hapless Gaara let loose several books of matches and a small container of lighter fluid. Sakura felt almost stupid that she wasn't concealing a hazard of her own- but when she saw other kids reach into their pockets and chuck their cell phones into the box, she gulped.

Leaning forward to read the PROHIBITED MATERIALS sign a little more closely, she saw that cell phones, pagers, and all two-way radio devices were strictly forbidden. It was bad enough that she couldn't have her car! Sakura clamped a sweaty hand around the cell phone in her pocket, her only connection to the outside world. When the attendant saw the look on her face, Sakura received a few quick slaps on the cheek. "Don't swoon on me, kid, they don't pay me enough to resuscitate. Bedides, you get one phone call once a week in the main lobby."

One phone call... once a week? But-

She looked down at her phone one last time and saw that she'd received two new text messages. It didn't seem possible that these would be her two last text messages. The first one was from Callie.

_ Call immediately! Will be waiting by the phone all night so be ready to dish. And remember the mantra I assigned you. You'll survive! BTW, for what it's worth, I think everyone's totally forgotten about..._

In typical Callie fashion, she'd gone on so long that Sakura

s crap cell phone cut the message off four lines in. In a way, Sakura was almost relieved. She didn't want to read about how everyone from her old school had already forgotten what had happened to her, what she'd done to land herself in this place.

She sighed and scrolled down to her second message. It was from her mom, who'd only just gotten the hang o texting a few weeks ago, and who surely had not known about this one-call-once-a-week thing or she would never have abandoned her daughter here. Right?

_Kiddo, we are always thinking of you. Be good and try to eat enough protein. We'll talk when we can. Love M&D_

With a sigh, Sakura realised her parents must have known. How else to explain their drawn face when she'd waved goodbye at the school gates this morning, duffel bag in hand? At breakfast, she'd tried to joke about finally losing that appalling New England accent she'd picked up at Dover, but her parents hadn't even cracked a smile. She'd thought they were still mad at her. They never did the whole raising-their-voice thing, which meant that when Sakura really messed up, they just gave her the old silent treatment. Now she understood this morning's strange demeanor; Her parents were already mourning the loss of contact with their only daughter.

"We're still waiting on one person," the attendant sang. "I wonder who it is." Sakura's attention snapped back to the Hazard Box, which was now brimming with contraband she didn't even recognize. She could feel the red-haired boy's green eyes staring at her. She looked up and noticed that everyone was staring. Her turn. She closed her eyes and slowly opened her fingers, letting her phone slip from her grasp and land with a sad thunk on top of the sound of being all alone.

Gaara and the fembot INo headed for the door without so much as a look in Sakura's direction, but the third boy turned to the attendant.

"I can fill her in," he said, nodding at Sakura.

"Not part of our deal," the attendant replied automatically, as if she'd been expecting this dialogue. "You're a new student again- that means new-student restrictions. Back to square one. You don't like it, you should have thought twice before breaking a parole."

The boy stood motionless, expressionless, as the attendant tugged Sakura- who'd stiffened at the word "parole" toward the end of a yellowed hall.

"Moving on," she said, as if nothing had just happened. "Beds." She pointed out the west-facing window to a distant cinder-block building. Sakura could see Ino and Gaara shuffling slowly towards them, with the third boy walking slowly, as if catching up to them were the last thing on his list of things to do.

The dorm was formidable and square, a solid gray block of a building whose thick double doors gave away nothing about the possibility of life inside them. A large stone plaque stood planted in the middle of the dead lawn, and Sakura remembered from the web site the words PAULINE DORMITORY chiseled into it. It looked even uglier in the hazy morning sun than it had looked in the flat black-and-white photograph.

Even from this distance, Sakura could see black mold covering the face of the dorm. All windows were obstructed by rows of thick steel bars. She squinted. Was that barbed wire topping the fence around the building?

The attendant looked down at a chart, flipping through Sakura's file. "Room sixty-three. Throw your bag in my office with the rest of them for now. You can unpack this afternoon."

Sakura dragged her red duffel bag towards the three other nondescript black trunks. Then she reached reflexively for her cell phone, where she usually keyed in things she needed to remember. But as her hand searched her empty pocket, she sighed and committed the room number to memory instead.

She still didn't see why she couldn't just stay with her parents; their house in Thunderbolt was less than a half hour from Sword & Cross. It had felt so good to be back home in Savannah, where, as her mom always said, even the wind blew lazily. Georgia's softer, slower pace suited Sakura way more than New England ever had.

But Sword & Cross didn't feel like Savannah. It hardly felt like anywhere at all, except the lifeless, colorless place where the court had mandated she board. 


End file.
